It Started With a Note

by Victoria Cooke

  ‘Yes, let’s go,’ I say enthusiastically. For once, I can’t wait to get out of the hotel.

  ‘I just want to buy a poppy.’ She points to the British Legion charity box on the bar and I twitch because it means walking over to pay at reception. If I stay here, I’ll look like I’m avoiding Olivier, which I am, but I want to look casual so I follow her.

  ‘Did you have a good trip to London?’ I ask Olivier, who is leaning on the reception desk.

  He lets out a long breath and rubs his chin. ‘It was okay. There is always a lot to cram into two days but the tourists enjoyed it.’ His tone is flat and he barely makes eye contact with me.

  My stomach feels twisty and I don’t know why. I want to know what I’ve done to upset him. I can’t exactly give him a piece of my mind if he won’t even look at me. ‘Have I—’

  ‘Let’s make tracks.’ Jackie interrupts me and it’s probably for the best. I need to forget about this man and rid myself of all the unusual stirrings he seems to conjure up inside me, both pleasant and otherwise.

  ‘Yes, of course,’ I reply, before turning to Olivier. ‘I’m glad you had a good trip.’ He gives another slight nod as I walk off.

  As unusual a place as it is to go to forget a man, the cemetery seems to be working wonders. Jackie – with her endless supply of conversation – gives me the chance to drift in and out of thought. She’s actually got a fascinating story about her great-great-grandfather, and that part does catch my attention, especially since I don’t have too much information on my own great-grandfather. She has newspaper cuttings about his death and he was some heroic sergeant who died in Arras, shielding two men from sniper fire. Those two men went on to survive the war, and one even wrote a book, which he dedicated to the man who’d saved his life. Jackie says she’ll write the name down for me so I can buy a copy.

  We find the pristine, white stone bearing his name and she places the poppy on the flourishing flower bed before it, and then she closes her eyes in silent prayer. I look away to allow her some privacy and watch a bird, hopping from headstone to headstone.

  ‘Right. I always have a drink after doing this. Are you with me?’ She pops her face around me to get my attention.

  ‘Sounds good, but it will be non-alcoholic for me. I’m still ashamed after getting so drunk last night.’ And after all the warnings I’d given Kieran about binge-drinking too.

  ‘Oh, you only live once,’ she says. I don’t know what my liver has done to her, but she certainly wants to punish it.

  ‘Exactly! And I don’t want to spend the rest of it feeling rotten,’ I say laughing.

  We head to a bar with a pretty outdoor terrace near the hotel, and by the time we’ve sat down, Jackie has convinced me to join her in having one glass of wine. It’s unlike me but I feel a little bit odd, like I just want to throw caution to the wind and I can’t put my finger on why. There’s a cheese grater working overtime on my insides, and I just don’t really care about what people think or who I’m supposed to be right now.

  Without thinking, I order a bottle of Louis Jadot, Macon Village Chapelle aux Loups, in French without hesitation. It just rolls off my tongue, but the feeling of smugness I’d expect for sounding natural and un-panicky doesn’t come.

  ‘Well that’s impressive, you dark horse.’ Jackie gives a little squeeze of her shoulders like a grandmother might when their precious grandchild says thank you for the twenty pence she’s just given them. I’ve noticed she does that a lot.

  Once the cosy wine fuzz embraces me, confiding in Jackie seems like a good idea. I don’t know her that well, but if I call Kaitlynn, who I do know well, with an update on my Olivier encounter, I can predict her advice will cover all bases from: ‘screw him and find a new man’ to ‘get on Tinder’. A second opinion is probably quite wise.

  I stroke the stem of my wine glass and can’t make eye contact. ‘You know that tour guide, Olivier?’

  Jackie chuckles. ‘My eyes turn into emoji hearts whenever I see him. Of course I know who he is.’

  ‘He’s been teaching me French. That’s how I could order the wine.’

  ‘Oh, he’s so lovely like that, you know. One of those do anything for anyone types. Great with the old folks.’ She takes a sip of her wine and I study her face. I’m looking for a sign that she thinks there must be something in it, but I see nothing. ‘There was a lady on our tour who was really interested in the local agriculture for some unknown reason and he sat with her for an hour on the coach going through the different tractors or whatever it is those types talk about. In fact, I think he was leaving her some books at the reception this morning.’

  His moves are strange, but they work – I’ll give him that much.

  My insides feel like they’re being sucked down a vacuum. Jackie excuses herself to go to the bathroom and I guzzle half of my next glass of wine, and then I laugh because everything makes so much sense.

  Maybe Olivier is just a nice guy.

  Olivier is also paid to be a nice guy.

  Olivier has a beautiful new wife.

  Maybe he wasn’t pretending to be single; maybe he just didn’t mention his wife because it’s none of my business. It’s not like anything happened between us and it could have. I’d misinterpreted his kindness for attraction, for the simple reason that I’m not used to men being kind to me or interested in me. I’d wanted it to mean more. Maybe he isn’t a cheating so-and-so after all. Elena must have been working and he clearly only invited me to Étaples and the beach because he felt sorry for me. When I think about it, he hasn’t flirted or made a move. He’s done nothing but be a nice guy.

  God, I’m a foolish bint. I laugh again.

  ‘What’s so funny?’ Jackie asks, sitting back down.

  ‘Ahh, I’m just happy. In fact, I think we should get some food, stay out late, and have some fun.’

  ‘Well, I’m game,’ she says, clinking her glass against mine.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  I am not a drinker. I feel worse than I did yesterday morning and I regret each and every drink I had yesterday, even the first. The room is spinning and I sit up to try and steady myself but the movement makes it worse. I know if I stand up, I’ll vomit. I check my phone and there’s a reply from Martha:

  MARRIED

  I CANT BELIEVE THAT

  MY SATELLITE MUST BE WONKY OR SOMETHING BECAUSE I DID NOT PICK THAT UP

  Oh no. I can’t deal with this right now.

  I fall back to sleep.

  When I awake the next time, I feel a little bit more human, but I’m famished. Another message has come in on my phone, from Cynthia this time.

  I wouldn’t have guessed it either.

  I glance outside and it’s pretty grey, so I throw on some blue jeans, a white T-shirt and grab my grey hoodie. The few cafés nearby still have their chairs upturned on the tables and I’ve no idea if they serve breakfast, so I decide to head to the hotel and eat there.

  It’s fairly quiet, which I’m thankful for as it means I shouldn’t have to talk to anyone. I press the lift button because the stairs would probably defeat me in my fragile state, and as the doors slide open, a pair of sharp lightning-blue eyes strike me.

  I swallow hard. ‘Olivier?’ All the words I’d wanted to say escape me.

  ‘Good morning, Cath,’ he says flatly. The fact he is mad with me when I’m mad with him throws me, and I find myself asking how London was. Again.

  ‘Grey, drizzly and busy.’ His tone is definitely clipped and he turns to walk away, but I don’t want him to go. The change in him has got underneath my skin. I’ve caused the change somehow, and I need to know why. I need to confront him about lying too. Perhaps then we can put all this behind us and be friends again, especially now any silly ideas I may have had about a little holiday kiss have been firmly imprisoned somewhere in the back of my head.

  Instinctively I put my arm out to stop him, but I haven’t thought of the words to accompany the action and just blurt out the first thing th
at pops into my head. ‘It’s nice to see you back.’

  His jaw tenses and relaxes again in a flash. ‘Yes, there’s no place like home.’ With that, he nods curtly and walks towards reception.

  ‘I know you haven’t been honest with me!’ I shout after him and he turns, setting his eyes on mine. There’s a hollowness to them and his mouth turns down ever so slightly. If I didn’t know better, I’d misinterpret his guilt for sadness. He shakes his head and walks off, leaving me too gobsmacked to go after him.

  I grab a coffee and a croissant and sit in the back corner where, hopefully, I’ll be left to my own devices. What was the head shaking about? Did he just not care about lying? And what was that comment there’s no place like home about? What does that mean? Was it a hint? Does he want me to go home? Maybe he was just homesick? Or has he been watching The Wizard of Oz on the coach?

  I’m angry with myself for not confronting him. I should have asked why he lied to me, and the fact I didn’t is going to keep bugging me. So is the fact he’s annoyed with me. What right does he have? What reason? I think that’s bugging me the most, so I have to figure this out. When he left he was fine; when he came back, he wasn’t. The only thing that happened between those two points in time was my conversation with Elena.

  I tap my fingers on the table while I rack my brain trying to remember everything I’d said to her. I’d mentioned Olivier but had I mentioned the free trips? That could be a reason for him to be mad but I didn’t think so. Perhaps I’d told her about the French lessons? I don’t think I did but I couldn’t rule it out. I rest my head in my hands.

  ‘Cath?’ I recognise the caramel tone before I even look.

  ‘Elena, how nice to see you,’ I say, plastering on a huge smile.

  ‘Can I join you?’ It’s the last thing I need, but I can’t say no, so I gesture to the adjacent chair. I suppose now is as good a time as any to set the record straight.

  ‘Olivier is upstairs if you want him,’ I say in a fine demonstration of how un-bothered I am about the two of them being together. I suspect the only beneficiary is myself.

  She waves her hand. ‘I see enough of him.’

  I take a deep breath. ‘Elena, I hope I didn’t cause any problems between you and Olivier the other day?’

  She frowns as she tips a sachet of brown sugar into her coffee. ‘In what way?’

  ‘I don’t know, I just think I may have upset Olivier. He’s been a bit off with me since he got back and I wondered if it was something I’d said to you?’

  She shrugs it off. ‘He can be a drama queen – I wouldn’t worry.’

  ‘But did I get him into trouble or anything … with you I mean?’

  Her eyes lift to meet mine. ‘Olivier does not answer to me.’

  ‘I know … I mean … of course not.’ God, why can’t I get anything right? ‘There hasn’t been—’ Her phone rings and the rest of my words come out as air.

  ‘My husband,’ she says apologetically.

  I sit on pins as she chats away happily. From her tone, there’s no animosity between him and her, so why is he angry with me if she isn’t mad with him?

  ‘Sorry about that,’ she says, stuffing her phone into her pocket. ‘What were you about to say?’

  ‘Oh, it’s nothing. Olivier seemed a little out of sorts since he returned from the UK, but I’m guessing he just missed you?’

  She throws her head back with laughter. ‘Moi? Not a chance. I’m the slave driver in this business and he’ll have been glad to escape my bossy demands. Honestly, the men in this business can be quite useless.’

  I smile. ‘So, are you one of the bosses?’ I ask, genuinely interested.

  ‘Yes, three of us own the company: myself, Olivier and my husband, Julien.’

  Wait? What? My heart spasms. ‘Olivier isn’t your husband?’ And he owns the company!

  She laughs heartily. ‘What? Ew. No! He’s my brother.’

  Like the iron bolts on The Crystal Maze, everything starts clicking into place.

  ‘But if you’re married, why do you have the same name?’

  ‘I never changed it. All my business contacts know me as Durand.’

  ‘If you aren’t cross with him for giving me free trips and private French lessons—’

  ‘He gave you free trips?’ She gasps.

  I gulp.

  Then she winks. ‘He’s such a Casanova when he wants to be, which is never.’

  I let out a sigh of relief. ‘So if I haven’t jeopardised your relationship, why is Olivier mad with me?’

  She shrugs. ‘You’ll have to ask him that.’

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Nobody at reception seems to have any idea about today’s trip – where it was to, when they’ll be back – and Elena had left before I thought to ask. I wanted to wait for Olivier, so I’d got myself comfortable in the bar area a few hours ago and I’ve been here ever since but he could have gone on a quick trip to the cemetery in Arras or back to London for two days for all I know.

  At midday, Kevin arrives for his shift. ‘I hear you were out partying again last night?’ he says as he slings his backpack behind the bar.

  ‘I wouldn’t call it partying exactly but we had fun.’ By about eight-thirty, we’d discovered that sleepy little Arras wasn’t quite the place for partying. ‘I was in bed for ten … We call it an all-dayer back home.’

  He shakes his head. ‘Why are you here and not out seeing the sights?’

  I sigh. ‘I’m waiting for Olivier to get back from wherever he’s gone today. He seems off. I think I’ve upset him.’

  ‘You know, I saw him last night and thought the same, so perhaps something has happened in his personal life. Anyway, the trip today is just a coach drop-off in Paris. He doesn’t usually go but maybe Julien was busy. He normally comes back here afterwards to meet guests and sign people up for excursions.’

  A short while later, the bus pulls up. Sure enough, the doors open and Olivier hops down the steps and walks in.

  My heart starts to thump in my ribcage and any vague plan of action becomes a distant memory. He’s looking straight ahead and doesn’t see me so I jump up. ‘Olivier?’

  When he turns around to face me his shoulders slump a little with recognition, zapping my confidence. ‘Can we talk?’ I ask.

  He checks his watch and sighs. ‘If you wish.’ His eyes flick to Kevin at the bar. ‘Shall we get some fresh air?’ He doesn’t wait for me to reply; instead, he turns back towards the door.

  I follow him out through the revolving door he freed me from on my first day here and he heads for the train station, where he sits on a bench just outside. ‘Okay, what would you like to talk about?’

  I decide to be upfront. ‘You’re mad with me.’

  His lips part to speak but instead, he lets out a breath.

  ‘Just tell me what I’ve done to upset you. We were getting on so well and I thought we were …’ I decide not to say what I really thought we were because it seems so imaginary, so ridiculous now. ‘Well, friends.’

  ‘We are friends. Nothing has changed.’ He folds his arms.

  ‘Why are you being so … different?’

  ‘I’m not.’ His words come out like a bark. Or maybe a bite, since they catch me so sharply.

  ‘Okay.’ I decide to play along with his charade. ‘Well, can I take you to lunch one day this week in exchange for another French lesson?’

  For the first time since we sat down, he turns to look at me, and I notice his eyes look heavy and moist. ‘Cath, I don’t think it’s a good idea. Perhaps Kevin can give you lessons. Anyway, I got you these from England.’ He pulls out two large Galaxy chocolate bars and thrusts them into my hand.

  ‘Wait. What? Why Kevin?’ I say, ignoring my chocolatey commiseration prize, though I am touched he remembered I missed them.

  ‘I saw you both. Embracing in the darkness of the streets when I was on the coach coming back to the hotel from London.’

  Cogs whiz and spin in
my head but I can’t remember embracing Kevin. I think I’d remember a clinch since the last time I’d embraced anyone was probably about the same time I got pregnant with Kieran. An embrace would stand out. I would remember.

  ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

  ‘You looked as though you were about to cross the road just there and then Kevin took you in his arms.’ He points to one of the roads coming off the square roundabout and snippets of memory start coming back to me. ‘You know, it doesn’t matter. You’re free to do whatever you like.’

  ‘That? That wasn’t an embrace – that was a drunken idiot being helped home by a guilt-ridden bartender.’

  His forehead crevices. ‘So nothing happened between you and Kevin?’

  ‘No! I’d stumbled, and he caught me. He’s lovely and all, but he’s barely any older than my son.’

  He sinks back into the bench and looks across towards the hotel. ‘Oh.’

  ‘I blame Jackie.’

  He looks puzzled.

  ‘You’ll know her when you see her. Anyway, long story short, she can drink and I can’t, but that little fact didn’t stop me from trying to keep up.’

  The conversation doesn’t put me at ease like I thought it would. I’d hoped that once the air was cleared, things would go back to normal, but something else is hanging in the air, bugging me.

  ‘How come thinking I was cuddling Kevin changed your attitude towards me?’ My voice comes out as barely a whisper, and at first, I can’t be sure if I’ve even spoken at all.

  He glances at me before dropping his head in his hands. It’s now or never; if there is something between us, then this is his chance to admit it.

  ‘Honestly? I don’t know.’ His whole body sags before silence envelopes us.

  ‘Oh,’ I say. ‘I should go.’ I need to get away. This whole situation is everything I don’t want. The mixed signals, the confusion, the uncertainty. At least back home I know who I am, what I mean to people, and while to some I may not mean much, I know who I can give my best self to. Here, I don’t know anything, and it scares me.